


Leave me all you need to

by brilligspoons



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Demisexuality, F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brilligspoons/pseuds/brilligspoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catherine meets Steve while they're both on leave in Thailand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave me all you need to

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [tailoredshirt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tailoredshirt/pseuds/tailoredshirt) for beta reading! <3

Catherine meets Steve while they're both on leave in Thailand. She's twenty-five and seething over the lecture her commanding officer had subjected her and the rest of the women in her training group about _sticking together_ and _watching their drinks_ and _don't even think about trying to fraternize with the men, regulation states that_ blah blah blah. Catherine knows how to take care of herself - she's been on her own for a long time, has been a student of various fighting styles since childhood, and the traces of condescension in her CO's voice has her blood boiling. Naturally she breaks off from the group of women she'd disembarked with as soon as an opportunity presents itself and hopes, as she slides around a group of men arguing over a bag of rice, that no one will snitch on her. Catherine wants to immerse herself in the city's environment, wants to lose herself in the sights and sounds and smells without anyone holding her back or hurrying her along to the next thing.

Of course, then she manages to get herself arrested. Catherine's not even sure what her crime is exactly - as far as she's concerned, all she's done in the last five hours is drift from crowd to crowd, sampling a dozen different treats here and there and picking up tiny souvenirs to send back home to her nieces and nephews. Sure, there might have been a small argument over the price of a glass figurine (the tag said one thing, the seller another, and, okay, her Thai is elementary at best, but even she knows enough to realize she's being ripped off when it happens), and if that's the reason behind her incarceration, well. That's just _dandy_.

"You could at least pretend to call the American embassy," she mentions to the officer guarding her. He ignores her completely. Catherine huffs and blows a raspberry at him. "It's not like you can't tell I'm in the military, either. The uniform sort of gives me away, don't you think? Wasn't trying for subtle when I got off the ship this morning. Also I don't think my CO would have let me off in civvies."

Nothing. Not even a twitch from her guard. Catherine sighs and leans her back against the concrete wall of her cell. _Just fucking great,_ she thinks. _I am going to rot in a Thai jail. This is a terrible turn of events._

Voices speaking Mandarin, not Thai, echo down the hallway. Catherine's ears prick up. Her Mandarin's better but not by much, and all she can make out is that one of the people speaking is an American who's come to pay the bail for the woman they're holding. She presses her face against the bars and glances around. Besides the guard, there's only one other person in the immediate area - a man, who's fast asleep on the floor of the cell across from hers and looks to be about a thousand years old judging from the deep wrinkles in his skin - so she assumes that whoever is speaking means her. A feeling of dread washes over her, despite being more than ready to get out of her cell. Someone must have tattled, and Catherine fully expects to see the disapproving face of some random petty officer turning the corner any second now...

Instead, she gets a tourist.

He's handsome, is the first thing Catherine notices, and also pretty built, and she feels absolutely no compunction to stop her eyes from raking up and down his body. _He's probably about my age, too,_ she thinks with no small amount of glee. His blue polo shirt, cargo shorts, and boots look well-worn, and his hair is cut much the same way most of the men she serves with cut theirs. He towers over the Thai guard who accompanies him into the cell area and motions to her keeper to open the door and let her out. Catherine's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she eyes her savior warily. He in turn gives her a lopsided smile and inclines his head, then turns to the guards and says something haltingly in their own language. The three of them chuckle together, and Catherine, showing more restraint than she's used to, smiles and says nothing. She wanders behind them as they return to the main room of the jail. The man hands over a wad of bills to one of the guards, who reluctantly returns her purchases, then takes her by the elbow and leads her outside.

"I told them," he murmurs, "that you're my wife and I was supposed to meet you while you were on shore leave."

"I _said_ as much," she hisses back at him. "Minus the husband thing, of course, but still. What the hell were they keeping me for, anyway?"

"Vendor said you stole from him," is the reply.

"Fucker," Catherine says. He laughs and lets go of her arm, then stops in the middle of the street.

"Steve McGarrett," he says, extending a hand to her. "Nice to meet you."

She takes it. "Catherine Rollins," she replies. "Thanks for the save. I, uh, I'd pay you back, only I think I blew most of my pay on souvenirs."

"Not a problem," Steve says. "I won't be here much longer, and I don't need money where I'm going."

He waves her along behind him and leads her back to the main row of sellers, the scent of curry and roasting meats wafting through the air and growing stronger as they get closer to the harbor. Steve stops before they reach the docks and nods his head towards the ship. "You've got a few more hours, don't you?" he asks. "You want to call it a day, or do you want to have dinner with me? My treat."

Catherine looks him square in the eye. There's not even a hint of ulterior motive in his gaze, and since she's not in the habit of lying to herself, Catherine is more than willing to admit that she doesn't want to say goodbye to Steve just yet.

"Okay," she says, "but don't think I'm putting out just because you decided to leave the house with your white knight hat on."

Steve looks so perfectly confused and distressed for a moment that Catherine regrets saying it.

"I wouldn't even _presume_ to -" he protests, but she waves a hand in face to interrupt him.

"Sorry, I'm just...cranky," she says.

"Jail will do that to a person," Steve agrees. "Come on, there's a really awesome curry place up a ways from here."

"We're in Thailand," she says, "of course there's a _really awesome curry place_."

Steve rolls his eyes at her. "Details, details. Let's go, I want to get there before the dinner crowds get too ridiculous."

Dinner is just as delicious as Steve had promised, and Catherine finds herself ordering more beer just to delay the check a little longer. Steve matches her drink for drink, laughing but still joining in when she switches to shots of whiskey, but never attempts to get in her space or make a move on her. The night wears on, and it's nearly midnight by the time they stumble out of the restaurant. Catherine looks at her watch and groans.

"My CO is going to flay me," she says. Steve pats her on the shoulder.

"Come on," he says, "I'll take you back to the ship."

She's drunk enough that she doesn't even argue when he takes her bags from her and rests a hand on her shoulder to direct her through the winding streets. She's grateful, because god knows she wouldn't have been able to maneuver them in the dark even if she'd been sober. Steve appears to have considerable knowledge of the area and manages to get them to the docks in the blink of an eye. _Or maybe I'm drunker than I thought I was,_ Catherine thinks. She looks over to Steve and takes in the line of his profile in the faint street light. _He's really...pretty._

He laughs, and Catherine's hands fly to her face when she realizes she's said this out loud. "It's true," she says, voice muffled. "Normally I wouldn't say that, but you really are, okay?"

"Okay," Steve says. He stops suddenly and catches Catherine when she stumbles forward a little. "I think you're expected."

Sure enough, her CO is standing on the gangplank, glaring down at her with his hands on his hips. "Christ," she says, "he looks like my mother right now."

Steve laughs and pushes her up onto the ship. "Lieutenant," he greets her CO with a salute.

A light goes off in Catherine's head. She turns to Steve and is about to say _you're Navy, too, aren't you_ when the lieutenant gently pulls her up off the plank and onto the ship and takes her bags from Steve.

"Thank you for bringing her back to us, Petty Officer McGarrett," is the reply. "I believe you have somewhere to be now?"

"Yes, sir." Steve waves to Catherine. "Nice meeting you, Petty Officer Rollins."

"I'm going to punch you the next time I see you," she hears herself say.

He laughs, then turns and walks down the plank to the dock. "I'll make sure to do something that deserves a punch, then," he calls over his shoulder to her.

***

She doesn't punch him the next time they see each other, or even the time after that. It's not even that she's looking for a reason to do so, either, it's just - well. Catherine's used to men, like her CO, for example, acting as though her being in the Navy is a cute flight of fancy and that she'll transfer out of active duty the moment the right man comes along. She knows this attitude isn't held across the board, of course, but she's come across it so often as to be wary of how military men react to her presence. Steve either doesn't care, or he doesn't notice, Catherine's not sure which. All signs point to the latter, really - she can never be sure whether or not he even notices she's a woman, first of all, much less the rampant misogyny going on all around them.

"Of course I noticed you're a woman," Steve protests when she brings it up the fourth time they stumble across each other's paths on leave. "You have," he gestures to her chest, "things. Breasts. That's what they're called."

Catherine thinks she could get away with punching him over a statement like that, but they're both six drinks in, and the tequila she just shot back tells her she wouldn't land the blow anyway. She files it away for later and says instead, "Good, good, glad to know your attention to detail is why they have you on the dangerous missions. I'll feel so much safer sleeping in my bunk while you're away on the next one now."

He laughs, but even through the drunken haze, Catherine can tell that it's forced.

"Sorry," she says. "I shouldn't bring that up. I'm not even supposed to know, but I couldn't help but look you up, and all the keywords led me to think -"

"Don't," Steve says. "Just don't." Her face must give away her distress, because he continues by saying, "I'm not angry or anything, but I'm not supposed to talk about it. I don't even discuss it with my team, save for when we're - you know. Away."

Catherine stares down into the glass in her hand. She knows better than to ask about the missions he goes on, knows better than to have checked his file in the first place (but it's easily accessible, she tells herself, and it's not like people who don't know the terminology would even know what they're looking for), but more than that, Catherine knows better than to say what she's about to say. _This will either end terribly or awesomely,_ she thinks. _Full speed ahead, Petty Officer Rollins._ "Want to have sex?" she blurts out.

She's never seen anyone actually spit out their drink in surprise before. Steve coughs and splutters as he apologizes to the bartender for drenching his shirtsleeve with spit and alcohol, and, really, she can't help it - she bursts out into the kind of high-pitched giggles she's mocked other people for in the past, rests her forehead against the bar while he continues to placate the man by ordering another drink and giving him a bigger tip.

"You don't just say that to another person," he says a few minutes later. He pokes at her shoulder as she continues to shake with laughter.

"Why not?" she asks between spasms. She shifts her head to get a look at his face. "How else am I supposed to know whether or not you want to sleep with me?" The discomfort making its way across his expression sobers her a little, and she begins to wonder if this is going to be one of those conversations where's she's not asking and he's not telling. "Steve? If you, uh, if you don't like - well, me, I mean -"

Steve pounds his drink back, not even bothering to remove the little umbrella before doing so and causing it to fall to the ground behind him. He swallows, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and signals for another drink. "You have to understand something, okay?" he says when the bartender exchanges his empty glass for a full one. He glances around the bar before leaning in close to her. "I'm not really that kind of guy."

Catherine blinks and shakes her head. "Not that kind of guy," she repeats. He nods. "I don't - I don't really follow."

He rubs at his face with one hand and inhales deeply. His hand falls back down to the bar, and he drums his fingers across it once, twice, then raises his arm and gestures through the air. "Look, so," he begins, "there was this, uh, kid in high school I was close with, I guess you could say."

"Gotcha." Catherine's thoroughly confused, of course, but she wants to know what makes Steve McGarrett tick, regardless of whether or not he's actually interested in _her_.

"I'd known this guy all my life, see, we did everything together, and I really liked him. He was the only person up to that point who, you know, made me feel -" Steve stops and glances at her, panic making its way onto his face as he realizes what he's just told her. Catherine holds up a hand before he can try to backtrack.

"I haven't said anything, you haven't said anything, so far as I'm concerned. What happens in the shady bar in Osaka stays in the shady bar in Osaka," she says. He jerks a nod at her. "Out with it, McGarrett, let's go."

"I figured I was gay," he says in a rush.

"Fair."

"I mean, he was the only one I ever wanted to have sex with. No one else was even a blip on my radar. But then my dad shipped my sister and me off to the mainland, and I went to Annapolis and just - didn't think about it much after that. Didn't think I could."

"I know I said what happens in the bar stays here," Catherine interrupts as she catches the bartender glaring at them, "but I don't know how much longer the bar is actually going to stay open, so you might want to say your piece sooner rather than later. Barkeep's getting a little itchy."

Steve laughs, visibly relaxing a bit. "But then I met this girl at school," he says, still smiling, "and she was a year or two ahead of me and sort of took me under her wing, showed me the ropes, got me up to speed. I spent most of my waking moments with her, and I - fuck, I _loved_ her, you know? All the guys got on my case, called her 'Mrs. Robinson' when she wasn't around. But we - I never -"

"I get it," Catherine says, and she does, is the thing, but the understanding is still settling in on her when Steve whips his head around from staring off into space and memory and gives her an incredulous look. "What?"

"You get it," Steve says after a long pause. Catherine shifts in her seat and nods.

"I don't have a textbook definition for you or anything, but yeah, it - it makes sense. In some weird, abstract sort of way. I've got a feeling lots of things are going to be like that with you in my life, McGarrett."

All of a sudden, Steve jumps up from his chair, takes her hands in his, and gets down on one knee. "Catherine Rollins," he says, "will you _please_ marry me."

She takes her hands back and shoves at him as he breaks down into gales of laughter. "As if," she says. "I'm not that kind of girl." Steve picks himself back up and digs some money out of his pocket to lay on the bar. When he turns back around to face her, his face is split by a wide, fond grin, and Catherine feels her heart twist, painful and beautiful, in her chest. "You ought to at least ask me to dinner first, asshole," she continues. "I think this warrants at least a steak."

"Next time," he promises, and he does, and Catherine just really isn't prepared for a guy like Steve. But she doesn't say anything about it again, until one morning, years and several promotions after their first meeting, he calls her while she's running drills in the middle of the Pacific.

"So," he says, voice oddly strangled. She wonders if he's calling her on the sly while he's supposed to be infiltrating god knows what terrorist camp but knows better than to even mention it. "I owe you dinner."

"Dinner," replies Catherine. Her stomach flutters pleasantly for a moment. "Right."

"Right."

***

More years and dinners and drunken confessions in shady bars fly by them in the blink of an eye. Catherine gets a call from Steve about his decision to transfer to the Reserves, and though the fleet is often stationed close enough for her to get more time with him, she doesn't take every possible chance. She teases him about dinner whenever he calls to ask for a favor, but their extended, non-work-related phone calls are filled with stories about his team, the people he's decided to adopt as his family. _His Kono, his Chin, his Danny_ she starts referring to them as in her head.

It's a while before Catherine is introduced to any of them, but once she does, she grasps the situation as quickly as she had that night in Osaka.

"You know I'm happy for you, right?" she asks as he checks the steaks on the grill. He freezes for a moment, then relaxes again and chuckles. He turns to look her square in the eye.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve replies, but it's a lie. Catherine smiles at him.

"That one on the left looks medium rare," she says rather than call him on it. _He'll come to it eventually._ "Hand it over already. I'm starving."


End file.
